


A Ghost That The Others Can't See

by whatthefoucault



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Doctor Who
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon Bisexual Character, Captain America: The First Avenger, F/F, Gay Bucky Barnes, M/M, Milkshakes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Episode: s09e12 Hell Bent, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8664988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefoucault/pseuds/whatthefoucault
Summary: "What'd you tell her about me?""Only the good stuff."





	

**Author's Note:**

> It had to be done.
> 
> The title was borrowed from [this beautiful piece of music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=32kYH6XZrIo), go listen and love.

_"What'd you tell her about me?"_

_"Only the good stuff."_

\---

"Don't suppose you've got a friend who might be up for a double date?" asked the dark haired young man with the sad eyes, turning the long-handled spoon slowly around the bottom of his milkshake. "It's just that tomorrow's my last night before I ship out, and it'd be nice to spend it in good company... Connie."

Clara puzzled at the name a moment, glancing down at her name tag. Oh yeah, she remembered. That. She did her best to affect a smile, slinging her tea towel over her shoulder. Okay, so Connie had been a bit of a panic, when her new friend had introduced herself as Bonnie, but as good an alias as any. She could have been more creative, but keeping a low profile was hard work. Clara was a bit of a dead giveaway, lest any of those insufferable Celestial Intervention Agents be hovering to march her back to her death before she was through seeing the universe.

Thankfully, however, she had concluded that the hard work of keeping a low profile did not preclude taking the opportunity to shoehorn in at least a bit of fun while forced to stay in one place for a while, and there was no better place to keep a low profile in than New York City. The diner got almost no custom, save for the first time lovely Bonnie had wandered in looking for a job (sorry love, maybe the telephone company around the corner is hiring - but seeing as you're here, there's a slice of blueberry pie with your name on it), and now this fellow - more charm than smarm, thankfully, and clever, and undeterred by the series of loud noises coming from the back of the restaurant.

CLANG CLANG BANG, came another clatter from beyond the kitchen door, followed by a few choice words.

"I'm pretty busy, you know," she said.

"That's too bad," shrugged the man. He was wearing a nice suit; not expensive, by any means, but nice. "I'm sure you deserve a break from running this place, and there's this technology expo I thought - "

"You've twisted my arm," said Clara. A technology expo, she thought. This could be useful.

"You got a friend?" he asked. BANG BANG CLANG, came another clatter from beyond the kitchen door, followed by a series of unintelligible shouting. "Me and mine, we're... kind of a package deal."

"Yeah, I think I've got a girlfriend who might be interested," she shrugged, propping her elbows on the bar. "Her name's Bonnie. She's sweet. So who's your friend?"

"His name's Steve," said the man. CLANG BANG CLANG CLANG " - Barnes, by the way, nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Barnes," she smiled. "So, tell me more about Steve."

"Steve?" His expression warmed noticeably. "He's the best guy I know. He's an artist. He's kind, he stands up for what he believes in. He's really something."

"An artist?" Clara was intrigued. "Is he as charming as you?"

"I mean, he's stubborn, that's for sure," conceded Barnes, taking a sip of the last of his drink, "but that's just because he's got principles. He believes in things, and he's not afraid to stand up for them."

"Sounds like a hell of a guy," Clara agreed. "Does he dance?"

"Sure, sure," shrugged Barnes, wincing slightly at the sound of another series of loud bangs. "Don't get me wrong, he's not gonna win any awards, but he can shuffle his feet. It's kinda cute, long as you don't let him step on your toes. Don't tell him I said he was cute - he gets pretty sore about people calling him cute, since he's always been kinda small. But, believe me, he's... beautiful."

"Sounds a bit like you'd rather be taking him out than me," she observed. He let out a soft chuckle.

"Don't be silly, sweetheart," he said, leaning forward with a smile. "What would I be doing asking a beautiful girl like you out for a night on the town if I was some kinda fairy?"

"Appearances?" she suggested. "I can't think there are that many places these days where a gentleman could take a Steve out for a night on the town without raising an awful lot of eyebrows."

"Maybe I just like to dance," he shrugged, smiling in that sad sort of way people did when they had long since resigned themselves to the sad kind of happiness. "The offer still stands, though."

"Can I give you a little advice?" she asked him.

"I'm all ears, milady," he nodded. She clasped his hands in hers.

"People like us, we... you think you have all the time in the universe, but just don't wait too long to say what needs to be said," she told him. In times and places like these, she was granted the curse of knowing the likelihood that this bright, kind-eyed young man would not live to see his thirties, and how he deserved, at the very least, a moment's worth of love. She thought of things she had waited too long to say to someone once, that not everyone was afforded the second, fleeting chance she got to say them, too little and too late.

"Do you really think it's that simple?" he asked.

"No," she said, "but that doesn't mean it isn't worth being brave."

There came what sounded to be a rather more serious loud clatter and an escalating spray of increasingly salty language from the back of the restaurant.

"Sounds like my... dishwasher's had an accident," said Clara. "I'd better go check on her. Seven o'clock, tomorrow?"

"You bring your friend, I'll bring mine," smiled Barnes, swaggering out the door.

"Who the hell was that?" asked Me, unable - or unwilling - to conceal her disdain.

"Just a punter," said Clara, rolling up her shirtsleeves. "But I think I might well have a lead on getting some kit to replace the broken... thing in the console."

"Please tell me this one's not going to fall in love with you," said Me, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, he's definitely gay," Clara told her. "Besides, you were the one who moaned endlessly about how I needed to stop moping every time I missed the Doctor, so I'm going dancing."

"Also true," shrugged Me, unplugging a handful of cables, swapping them round, and plugging them back in. "Besides, aren't you and that blonde girl from the other day... ?"

Me gesticulated in a manner that left little doubt as to the nature of her vague query. Clara shrugged.

"I have an infinitely paused lifespan," she replied, tapping idly at the still-unresponsive console buttons, "which means, well... I may be old, but I'm not dead."

\---

The first thing she did, of course, was to get lost on the way to powder her nose: so lost, it turned out, that she found herself, quite by accident, of course, backstage at an especially promising demonstration, where she made the acquaintance of a delightful gentleman with a very nice moustache. She was almost tempted to suggest he come with them, but while Me was not wholly averse to picking up strays, the prospect of an inevitable goodbye never did seem to become any less unpleasant. This did not, however, stop her from purloining a small souvenir when his attention was elsewhere.

The date itself was unremarkable: Steve, Barnes' friend, was polite, and sweetly earnest. There was something almost achingly familiar in the way Barnes regarded him, an unspoken fondness tinged with impossible longing. Bonnie feigned polite disinterest - not wanting to set him up for a disappointment, she said - but Clara was almost disappointed he left before she could see how he danced. Dear Mr. Barnes, gracious and charming, kept them company a while longer after Steve wandered off, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Clara put him out of his misery after about half and hour of watching him gaze wistfully into the distance, with the perfectly true excuse that she would need to be up early the next morning making eggs and coffee for the good people of the neighbourhood.

The fact that she had had every intention of going home by way of the rooftop of Bonnie's apartment for a few hours of soft kisses under the stars was neither here nor there, and frankly, none of anyone's business.

Me was sucking down the last dregs of what looked to be her sixth strawberry milkshake when Clara returned to the diner.

"Ta-daa!" she proclaimed, pulling a shining treasure from her purse.

"What the hell is that supposed to be?" asked Me, swiping a stray lock of hair from her face, leaving a trail of TARDIS engine grease in its wake.

"This is our ticket out of here," Clara beamed. "Might be a bit of an interesting retrofit, but the TARDIS is nothing if not adaptable."

Me's expression soured. "Where the hell did you get a stabiliser like that on this planet in this... era?" she asked.

"Borrowed it from a nice man called Howard," said Clara. "But before you protest, just remember that we didn't have hovercars 70 years on from now, so what I'm really doing is allowing history to take its course as it should."

"I'd honestly hate time travel," sighed Me, "if it wasn't so much fun."

\---

_"Where are we going?"_

_"The future."_

It was fair to say that Me was less than enthused when Clara suggested that they return to Brooklyn - albeit, a few years later than when they were there last, but Clara had a hunch that would bother her for the rest of her days, however many she had left before time caught up with her, if it were left unresolved. She knew, or at least she hoped, that if she timed her visit right, her hunch would be resolved.

And just like that, right on time, two gentlemen wandered into the diner. Clara busied herself wiping down the counter for the twelfth time that morning.

"What the hell are we doing here?" asked the scruffier of the pair, long hair scraped into a small bun that sat just above the name of his neck. He had on at least one too many layers for the weather, and what looked to be a well-polished prosthetic arm shining out beneath the upturned cuffs of his heavy flannel shirt.

"Just curious to see what passes for vintage these days," smirked the fair-haired gentleman, whose shirt by contrast was a good two sizes too small, taking his companion's hand and leading them to a pair of bar stools. "Don't you want to see where our friends think we used to have breakfast back in the day?"

"Afternoon, boys," smiled Clara, slinging her tea towel over her shoulder, propping her elbows on the bar. "What can I get you?"

"Uhh, two chocolate milkshakes and a slice of lemon meringue - what the hell?"

He was older, but only just: though his eyes carried with them the heavy tiredness of someone who had seen and done far too much pain, seventy-some years had been unusually kind to Barnes and his friend.

He seemed to search her face with a mix of confusion and fear.

"This is gonna sound crazy," he started, nervously clenching his metal fist, blinking a few more times than was usual, "but you look just like - "

"It's nice to see you too, Mr. Barnes," she said, placing her hands softly over his with a warm, disarming smile. "It's been a long time."

"My name is Bucky," he said, speaking slowly. "I'm sorry, I... I absolutely don't remember your name."

"Clara," she smiled. "Your friend's had a growth spurt, Bucky."

"Guess you could say that," Steve blushed. "So... who's going to ask first?"

"Long story," Clara told them. "Long, long story."

"Us too, I guess," said Bucky.

The hunch that Me had had no interest in pursuing was, it turned out, true: the Mr. Barnes she borrowed that evening just before he went to war was better known as Bucky, and the little Steve, whom he regarded so fondly, was Rogers - much more widely known for his achievements now than when they had first met.

"So, what's _your_ secret?" asked Steve.

"Maybe she's born with it, maybe she's functionally immortal and this diner actually travels through time and space," she shrugged. "I never got the chance to thank you both for a lovely night out."

"Oh jeez, I'm so sorry," Steve cringed. "I wasn't much in the mood for a date that night."

"I'm sure you had your reasons." Clara gave him a knowing smile. "But it's nice to see you've stuck together."

A look passed between them, and Bucky blushed as red as the glistening cherry on top of an ice cream sundae. "We haven't really told anybody yet, but I... I asked him to marry me last week," he said.

Clara raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And I said yes, obviously," said Steve, affectionately squeezing his arm. "I mean come on, look at him, he's gorgeous."

Bucky blushed like a whole jar of glistening cherries. "Shut up, punk," he said. "Wait, what kind of immortal? What the hell?"

"I'd have brought an engagement gift if I'd known," she told them, but inspiration had already struck. "How would you boys like to enjoy a slice of lemon meringue pie while watching a triple sunset over the canopy of the great forests of the planet Garafraxa?"


End file.
